


Therapy

by BlackLotus2002



Series: A Family Matter [3]
Category: Magnum P.I. (TV 2018)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, Backstory, Canon Compliant, Gen, Hurt, Juliet Higgins Whump, Minor Character Death, Past Abuse, Past Character Death, Pre-Juliet Higgins / Thomas Sullivan Magnum IV, Suicidal Thoughts, Suicide Attempt, parental neglect
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-05
Updated: 2020-12-05
Packaged: 2021-03-09 21:41:07
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,051
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27903130
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BlackLotus2002/pseuds/BlackLotus2002
Summary: Stages in the life of Juliet Higgins.Or 5 times Juliet Higgins was hurt. +1 where everything is going to be okay.
Relationships: Juliet Higgins & Jonathan Quayle Higgins III
Series: A Family Matter [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2037034
Comments: 4
Kudos: 12





	Therapy

**Author's Note:**

> To make it clear, the Higgins family tree.
> 
> Jonathan Quayle Higgins III sired Albert Jonathan Louis Higgins II.  
> Albert Jonathan Louis Higgins II and Christiana Margaret Jane Higgins sired:
> 
> Jonathan Quayle Higgins IV.  
> The twins, Amalia Geneva Louise & Carlisle Albert Jonathan Higgins.  
> Conrad Alexander Quayle Higgins.  
> Cassandra Margaret Victoria Higgins.
> 
> Albert Jonathan Lois Higgins II and Elizabeth Cordelia Ramsay sired Juliet Alexandra Louise Higgins.

**I.**

It wasn’t odd for little Juliet to wait for her mama outside the gate after the school day was over. On Wednesday, she carried her gym bag with her attire for her Karate class, and afterwards, for her archery lessons. It wasn’t strange, indeed, for the seven-year-old girl to wait outside, chatting with Maddison Chamberlain about the upcoming holiday under the watchful eye of Miss Dupree, in case they wandered about. So when the white van pulled on the other side of the road, and the cameras started shooting and flashing, little Juliet was screwed to the pavement, the world seemed to stop. Juliet realised, she was dragged inside by Miss Dupree, while Miss Chamberlain also rushed Maddison inside their car.

Leo was already down the street when Juliet hurled her lunch down a bin in Mrs Falks’,  _ (the headmistress) _ , office. Her clammy hands and cold skin made her feel sicker; her heart was pounding and felt like throwing up again. She was lusterless, just plain ill and Juliet didn’t like it.

She could hear, like underwater, her uncle’s hushed voice overlaying over that of the headmistress’; she couldn’t distinguish the words, it was too hard; but he looked, other than double, that’s it, crossed. Leo never got mad, he never yelled, not even when she refused to eat her fish and chips, he would just be stern, never loud, just stern. 

Mrs Falk nodded, head low, blurry around the edges. Leo turned and stomped towards her.

“Come now, lass. Off we go.”

He rarely carried her anymore, but it appeared it was one of those rare moments. She buried herself on his shoulder, breathing him in and closing her eyes tightly, ever so, little spots danced behind her eyelids. She remembers the wave of words, the swarm of people and the shutters of cameras clicking in rapid successions, like a submachine gun; that was perhaps, the first time Juliet found herself under fire, but not the kind of fire she later in life got used to.

* * *

* * *

Her mama always said:  _ You’ll never come down when strangers are in here, you will always wait for me to come and get you. _

“Absolutely no!” Mama never yelled. She always said angry words were rude, and they could hurt. “You won’t take my daughter away from me.”

Hushed words were spoken, she truly couldn’t hear what they conversed.

“You never wanted her! You said she was a mistake. Bloody coward.”

“It’s for her own protection.”  _ «Uncle Leo!» _

“He wants to take her away from me.” 

“Think wisely,” a voice, another lady, “your child would have everything she needs.”

“She won’t have her mother. I’m the only one she needs.”

“You’ll learn quickly,” this woman replied coldly, “that parents are the first one who stops being of use for our children.”

Juliet didn’t understand why this lady was speaking such to her mother;  _ «she loves her mama! And she will always need her» _ . Who would read Harry Potter to her? she did all the voices right; or who would prepare her chocolate milk with the right amount of chocolate and milk? certainly no one. 

She ran down the stairs in a hurry, something her mama forbade; but she was not going to allow the lady to speak mean things to her mother.

“Shut up!” Little Juliet all but shrieked. “ _ Go away, go away _ .”

“Juliet!” Her mama flinched, but still caught her when she threw herself at her.

“ _ Make them go! _ Mama, I don’t want them, I don’t want them.”

“You heard her,” Her mama used her irate voice, she was sure she was using her mad face too; she wouldn’t know since she was buried in her neck. “You need to leave.”

**II.**

He hated her, she was sure. He said she was his daughter, but he hated her.

“You’ll like your new school.” 

But he was sending her away from her mama and Maddie and Josie. She didn’t want to live in his house either; it was cold and big, and those kids, her siblings they said, were impolite and cruel. 

“I don’t want a new school, I don’t want new clothes or a new room.” Teeth clenched and shoulders set against the frumpy seat. “I want my old school, with my old clothes and my old house.”

“Too bad you don’t get to choose.” He barked.

Juliet wanted to scream.

**III.**

_ She was drowning.  _ Literally.

Bloody Amalia was holding her head down, in the murky water. It was cold, and she couldn't breathe. 

Juliet tried to fight back; she clawed and bucked, but Amalia was bigger, stronger.

“Aren't you going to apologize?” she mocked, she was holding her braid in her fist, pulling. “Don’t you know your place? Ah? Bastard. I’m your superior, you talk when I say, you exist when I command you.”

“Leave. Me. Alone.”

Her sister pulled back and then pushed down again, but this time on the land; mud went up to her nose and mouth, and she choked on it. 

“Come near again while I’m with my friends and I’ll kill you in your sleep.”

“That’s the only way you’ll actually succeed.” All but coughed, panted also. She knew it was like having a death wish since Amalia was fourteen and she was only nine.

She didn't care.

Amalia’s foot connected with her stomach and air got knocked out of her body; her eyes welled, but she didn’t shed. She waited for her footsteps to disappear and her form to fade away, to lean back in a tree to examine her scraped knees and broken nails; she had a headache and her heart was hammering; her mouth tasted like dirt and she felt still underwater. A sharp piece of rock was at hand, so she pressed it against her palm, it was a real pain, and the edges of the world were clearer.

She hated them, all of them. Albert because he didn’t care; Jonathan because he was never there; Amalia and Carlisle because they were cruel; and Conrad because he never said anything. 

But hated herself the most for being weak.

She was weak and cowardly. She could take Amalia, probably Carlisle too, but her mama said not too, and her sensei said her abilities were strictly for the dojo. So she was mad at them too for making her weak.

Wet, vulnerable and a coward.

Just brilliant.

**IV.**

She was in the headmaster’s office,  _ again. _

In her defence, Helena Wurtz tore her notebook and called her mother a prostitute. Just because it was in German didn’t mean it was okay to insult other people’s mothers, she concluded. Making an executive decision; she broke Helena's nose and Filiz’s Celen wrist when she tried to pull her hair; she hated having her hair pulled, it reminded her of Amalia; that was why she cut her hair. It was self-defence and Mr Gudin couldn't refuse her the right of defending herself against those who posed a threat.

“This is the fourth time this month, Juliet.” The way his tongue wrapped around the syllables of her name made her grimace. 

“That number says much more about them than it’s about me. They attack, I only defend myself.”

The man was always soft-spoken, gentle with her. She liked him as much as she could like anyone. “You can not take justice into your own hands, that’s not how the world works.”

“You are absolutely right Monsieur Gudin,” eleven years old Juliet stared at the man’s brown eyes, his peculiar nose pointing up; a frown painted his expression. Perhaps he expected more bristle from her. “I can’t take something that does not exist.” She heard his breathing get caught in his throat. “If that’s all, I will expect my punishment in my alcove.”

“You may retire then.”

* * *

* * *

She tried to wash her hands and shirt, but the pinkish tone lingered; Helena’s blood still tainted her shirt and tears wetted her cheeks. She quietly couldn’t remember the moment she curled into a ball and tried to silence the whispers that yelled in her head. 

_ Bastard. _

_ Waste of space. _

_ Animal. _

_ Fool. _

_ Mistake. _

**_V._ **

_ “I believe it is just sound for her to get checked by a psychiatrist as well,”  _ Conrad had said in his aloof voice. “ _ She has quite the temper and anger management problems, mayhaps she’s spiralling like her insane mother as well.” _

_“Put a sock when you speak about my mother, you foul-mouthed wanker.”_ Jules snapped, her father groaned and Christiana gave a reproving look.

_“I’m just stating facts, Juliet. I won’t be surprised if sooner rather than later the doctors decide to put her down like the rabid bitch she is.”_ He spat viciously. 

Juliet lost it. 

The next thing she remembers is being pulled away from her bloodied brother by Jonathan  _ and  _ her father; Christiana was kneeled by her son’s limp body, cradling his broken face; his eyes were already swollen and his lip was deformed, his cheek was red and bloodied, and he might as well be missing a teeth. 

“Let go of me!” Roared thirteen-years-old Juliet. Struggling against her fifty-years-old father and twenty-three-years-old brother which were having a tremendous time trying to hold her.

“Calm down, Juliet!” Jonathan tried, but she was stomping his feet and putting her elbow against her father's chest. Both let go at once. 

She ran. 

She found herself at the indoor pool trying to walk straight, to make her aching chest stop hurting. Doubling over, her half-digested meal stained the floor in a pinkish and smelly splatter; she tried to stand, the world's axis tilted and her vision went dark. She was surrounded by warmth and wet all the sudden, and she wanted to know, but her eyes were heavy; her head and chest pounded rhythmically, and the pain was in the only thing she could focus, it was too much. She was drifting, in and out of consciousness, sleepy. 

In the middle of her pain-induced haze, a noise, _swosh!_ so she thought she imagined it; wouldn’t be the first time; last time was her granda and Nan talking to her about being strong. A splashing sound? It was easier to understand. Her body moved, she was being dragged, she realized. Then, there was no more warmth, just hard against her body. Her chest compressed,  _ «one and two and three and four...»,  _ and she realized,  _ she wasn’t breathing. _ Her brain caught up on the fact and her lungs expanded again, burning and forcing the water out of them. She coughed the chlorine-flavoured water, her body was tipped to the side by big and gentle hands. Soft, encouraging words were whispered.

“Good gracious, Juliet. Never do that again,” Jonathan held her tight, her vacant eyes connected with her father’s at the other end of the pool. “I would die if something happened to you.”

_ «Would you really?» _

**VI.**

_ «We are sorry to inform you that Ms Ramsay didn’t survive the operation.» _

_ «He is the best neurosurgeon in Great Britain, your mother would be just fine.» _

_ «Mayhaps is a punishment for all her sins. Or yours.» _

_ «I’m indifferent to it, really. Never met the woman. And if she’s anything like Juliet, well, I think the rest remains unspoken.” _

She hated them. She hated them all.

Her broken reflection stared back at her. She was sixteen and alone in the middle of a forest full of rabid wolves. They stalk her, waiting, hoping for her demise; for her to fall and strike straight to the jugular. 

Her mama was dead. The damned illness took her away. First robbed of her memories, and then, of her life. She was truly, completely and sincerely alone. 

She was accepted into Cambridge, the dean of students was enchanted with her. Her mama would be proud; if she was there to see, but she wasn’t. She was going to be a great mathematician, grandpapa Jonathan said, only if she ever got there. 

Her grandpapa kept an assortment of weapons of all era, « _one of the_ _ finest weaponry collections in the world.»  _ He loved to say. Thaught her how to use each one of them.  _ «The only one of my grandchildren who have the talent for such fine art as marksmanship.»  _ Murmured while showing her a real, seventeenth-century Katana. They were on her swordsmanship skills by that. 

What caught her attention was the history of an old Makarov pistol, from her papa’s MI6 time. 

He got it while imprisoned in Ukraine by the KGB. He killed one of the men who got him imprisoned and got the gun;  _ «I rather put a bullet in my head than give them the pleasure of seeing me broken.»  _

Her grandpa took good care of his guns; they were fully functional, and always kept spare bullets for demonstration.  _ «One will suffice.»  _ Told herself while staring down the barrel. She was fighting her own war, held hostage by the enemy, tortured and pushed to the edge of pain; she was finally broken, but they didn’t know it yet, and she wasn’t going to give them the satisfaction of finding out,  _ she rather die than give them the pleasure.  _ The Makarov itself was not heavy, but the decision granted the pistol a new sense of weight. 

She was ready. 

The metal wasn’t cold, but warm; she already could see her mother’s face.

“Jay!” A little voice resounded in the solitude of the woods. “Jay!”

_ Cassandra.  _ Sweet little Cassandra. 

Turning her back on the lake and hiding the handgun behind her back, she was granted the sight of her youngest sister. Her little pixie hair wobbled around while she enthusiastically carried a paper sheet.

“Hello there, little fairy. What brings to my side of this enchanted forest?” Crouched down, she hugged tightly her little form, inhaling her sweet scent of strawberries.

“I brought you THIS,” she extended the paper with such energy, so much  _ life,  _ that now the gun hidden in her back was cold,  _ lifeless. “ _ It’s me, and you, and your mama.” The six years old never met her mother, Christiana wouldn’t allow it. And yet, she told her stories and showed her pictures of her time with her mother, Cassie loved to hear all about it.

“Jay said she went to heaven with nanna and Lance the kitten,” her sapphire eyes cast down, and her voice dropped significantly; her heart ached. “So I thought maybe you feel better with something to remember her.”

“Thank you little sun,” her baby wrapped her arms around her neck. “Thank you so much.”

After letting go, Cassie started pulling, she wanted to have a tea party.  _ «You can have your disgusting coffee if it’s please you, come one.» _

* * *

* * *

Three days later, she sneaked into the armoury; it was mid-afternoon, and no one was around, or so she thought. 

“Prey tell Juliet Alexandra, what is it that you are doing here?” 

She almost jumped out of her skin at her grandfather’s voice. “I was—”

“Think twice before lying to me, I might be old but not daft.”

There was distrust in his voice, and he was already looming two heads over her, staring into her eyes with intent.

“You said to me that, while captured in Ukraine, all alone, you’d rather put a bullet through your brain than surrender to your captor’s wishes.” Her eyes darted down to her twiddling thumbs, “I live in a golden jail, papa; ivory and marble surround me, but it’s a prison nonetheless. I’ve lost my last ally, I’m all alone, and I rather put a bullet through my brain than let them know they finally win.” Her last words were all but a whisper, the last breath.

His big, wrinkly hands lay heavy on her shoulder. “Look at me child,” her eyes were still in the ground, “AT ONCE, JULIET ALEXANDRA.”

Slowly, unsure, her eyes went from the tip of her feet to his face. “You won’t ever say such things, ever again; you are not alone, you have me, there still plenty life in my old body to ensure that you never feel this way again. You are my granddaughter and I love you with all my might, and I will always hear whatever you have to say, whenever you feel this way, look for me, I’ll be there.”

“Papa—” she choked in her words and he brought her in for a tight hug, the tightest, the strongest; perhaps he was trying to squeeze the pain away, it sounded ludicrous, but, somewhat, it made things better.

She was better.

A week after, she got summoned to her papa’s chambers; she found at his studio with a, rather curious, gentleman she sure saw at one of her papa’s prior birthdays.

“Come at once, Jules, I want to introduce you to my old good friend, Holland Alexander Pierce. His father was my brother in arms while in the army.”

“Hello, Juliet; your grandfather has told me many things about you.”

He was somewhat handsome, whit green eyes and golden hair, his mouth crooked oddly downside but it was rather charming. “It’s my pleasure, Mr Pierce.” She looked at her papa for permission to sit next to Mr Pierce and across him. Nodded in affirmation.

“Your papa told me the grim news. My condolences.”

“Thank you, sir.”

“Juliet is an accomplished athlete and a really clever girl,” said her grandpa with a pointing look. “She has a wider understanding of the world than most kids her age. Certainly more than her siblings.” 

“Is that so?” The man stared directly into her eyes, something that many more didn’t dare to do, not even her father.

“I wouldn’t know, sir. There’s still plenty that escapes me.”

“Much wise of you to accept there’s plenty you don’t know,” he leaned back on his seat, his eyes firmly on her, she didn’t relent either. “It proves you’re willing to learn, improve.”

“I would say I’m rather curious.”

“That’s good. Very good indeed.”

She looked at her grandfather, then, he was smiling wide and prideful; she couldn’t understand why.

“Holland here has a proposal for you, lovely. I want you to listen intently, you can say no whenever you want. Do you understand?”

“Yes, papa.” 

“Well then.” Her grandfather said, he looked at Holland, who nodded in agreement.

“Tell me, Juliet; what do you know about Her Majesty’s Secret Intelligence Service.”


End file.
